


the world is your oyster

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: BAMF Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bakugou Katsuki-centric, Bakugou Masaru's Bad Parenting, Bakugou Mitsuki's Bad Parenting, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Yuri!!! on Ice, M/M, Midoriya Izuku is a Dork, NO SHIP BETWEEN DEKU AND ALL MIGHT OFC, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Todoroki Shouto is a Dork, a lot of people make appearances including people from 1b, all might is viktor, background jirou and momo, deku is yuuri, its a yoi au what do u expect, just know that bkg is yurio, pls read i am begging, which characters r which will be explained in the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Walking out of the rink and into the lobby, Katsuki loiters around as his father returns both pairs of rental skates, still reading the descriptions on the wall about the skaters.Aizawa Shouta’s Top Skaters, the banner above the posters reads.Kaminari Denki, Junior. Uraraka Ochako, Junior. Jirou Kyouka, Junior.They all seem to be fairly young, although five years older than he is, so the one and only senior skater catches his eye quickly.Yagi Toshinori, Senior. Top Men’s Singles Skater. World Champion x 3.Bakugou Katsuki stares at the poster for a whole six seconds before turning to his father and declaring, “I’m beating him.”(or: bakugou is an angry blond skater, and not a lot of things change. yuri on ice! au)
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Katsuki & Kaminari Denki, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki & Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki & Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	the world is your oyster

**Author's Note:**

> IVE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG SORRY dsjksjfkskfj here i am though w another subpar fic for yall
> 
> anyways!!!!!!!!!!!! characters and ages
> 
> yuri plisetsky: bakugou katsuki  
> katsuki yuuri: izuku midoriya  
> viktor nikiforov: yagi toshinori (no romantic ship between him and deku ofc)  
> yakov feltsman: aizawa shouta  
> lillia baranovskaya: hakamata tsunagu  
> otabek altin: todoroki shouto  
> phichit chulanont: iida tenya  
> christophe giacometti: yamada hizashi  
> minami kenjirou: kouta  
> celestino: iida tensei  
> mila babicheva: uraraka ochako  
> georgi popovich: kaminari denki
> 
> AGES (obv altered)  
> bakugou katsuki: 15  
> izuku midoriya: 19  
> yagi toshinori: 29  
> aizawa shouta: 38  
> hakamata tsunagu: 37  
> todoroki shouto: 18  
> iida tenya: 20  
> yamada hizashi: 28  
> kouta: 16  
> iida tensei: 36  
> uraraka ochako: 19  
> kaminari denki: 20
> 
> yell heah  
> lets get into it

Bakugou Katsuki is four when he starts to realize that his mother is not a good one. His father tries to coax him, lips thinned out in a grimace as he says,  _ “it’s just her way of loving you,”  _ and  _ “she doesn’t really mean it. Just behave for her, will you?”  _ The words are sweet and meant to be placating, but all Katsuki feels when he hears them are thorns.

Bakugou Katsuki is four when he starts to blindly follow his advice. So he suppresses his joy and anger and pain and excitement and he behaves, pretending to be a poster child while the neighbors ask his mother how he’s so well-mannered. Katsuki would kick them if he was not so afraid of how his mother would kick twice as hard.

It doesn’t really matter. She beats him anyway, and that is when Katsuki knows that his father says the gentlest words when he lies.

.

He supposes it’s only a matter of time before his parents get divorced. The court case is set two months before his seventh birthday, and the custody battle ends up with his father finally winning. His mother’s pretty little lips, tainted with Katsuki’s innocence, curl up in a petulant scowl as she realizes her doormat of a husband beat her. Katsuki watches as she walks away, the only thing giving away her anger being her twitching hands. 

His father turns to him with a smile, beckons little Katsuki to follow him, and says, “let’s go home.” This time, Katsuki believes him.

.

On Katsuki’s seventh birthday, he’s dragged up early by an excited Masaru who tells him that they’re going to do something  _ fun _ . Katsuki stares at his father’s face, and upon seeing the slight tremble of excitement in his jaw, takes his hand.

The thick layer of snow outside has begun to turn into a clumpy slush. The weather is not too cold, not too warm (by Russian standards, at least), and Katsuki happily skips down the sidewalk next to his dad. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, crimson eyes curious and wide and  _ too much like his mother’s, although at the time he doesn’t care  _ boring into Masaru’s own. His pale fingers tug at the uncomfortable material his pants are made of, wondering why his dad had made him put on such warm clothing in the spring.

“You’ll see,” his father chuckles, letting Katsuki’s protests and pouts go ignored.

Katsuki is about two minutes away from collectively losing his shit when his father finally stops and points at a large building a street down from them. “That’s it,” the older man says, and Katsuki frowns for a minute before he raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? What’s inside?” 

Masaru doesn’t answer, letting Katsuki stand there for a couple seconds before he runs after his father, questions shooting out of his mouth like bullets. 

The inside of the building is cold, and suddenly the blond is grateful for the insanely hot jacket he had complained about before. The arena is rather empty, and Katsuki barely pays attention to his father exchanging quiet words with the receptionist, instead choosing to look around at the posters filled with the top figure skaters in Russia. He’s about to read the top skater’s name when his father taps him on the shoulder with a pair of worn-out rental skates in his hand and grins. Katsuki obediently follows his father inside to the benches by the rink, enraptured by the way the blades seem to gleam even in the dimly lit area.

“It’s gonna be kinda tight, okay?” At the blond’s affronted look, Masaru quickly backtracks, “but don’t worry. It’s not gonna hurt.”

Katsuki sits still and lets his dad tie the laces on the skates, looping on the hooks and tying a secure knot at the top. It feels a little strange, but Katsuki doesn’t want to have a petty outburst, having enough tact to know not to disrupt the few skaters on the rink at the moment.

Once his father is finished with his own skates, he stands up, wobbles a little, and trails behind the older man as they approach the doors to the rink. Katsuki clutches his dad’s pants like a lifeline, not wanting to topple over and risk embarrassing himself in front of much more experienced people. 

Getting on the ice is a foreign feeling. As soon as the first blade touches the ice, Katsuki’s balance is thrown off and he grabs the rink wall quickly in order to avoid falling. The second foot is a little easier now that he’s holding on to something, but he still finds himself scared of falling anyway. “It’s okay, Katsuki,” his father soothes, “the wall isn’t going anywhere. Just push yourself alongside it.”

Slowly but surely, Katsuki begins to move. It doesn’t seem like a big deal to anyone _ ,  _ really, but something in his brain clicks and suddenly he’s  _ moving  _ and it feels absolutely  _ amazing  _ and he’s pushing himself faster and faster and faster—

he falls flat on his ass. Masaru stifles a laugh with a cough and goes to help the blond, only for Katsuki to slap the hand away and bite out a stubborn, “I can do it myself.”

It’s painfully embarrassing. Katsuki puts down one hand in front of the other and pushes himself up, willing himself not to fall back down. Using his toepick (which he later learns is the upmost of rookie mistakes) to push himself over to the wall, Katsuki stands and observes.

One of the older skaters, who looks to be around 9-10, is gliding in circles and crossing one foot over the other to gain more speed and Katsuki is so awestruck that he unconsciously tries to do the same. It’s awkward and clumsy and he’s clinging to the wall but it feels  _ fun.  _ He skates laps and tries to push with his whole blade instead of his toe like he had seen one of the other skaters do, all the while keeping his hand on the wall as a safety line. When the hour of rink time is over, Katsuki feels an unexplainable bout of sadness arise in his chest, but he doesn’t quite get why. 

Walking out of the rink and into the lobby, Katsuki loiters around as his father returns both pairs of rental skates, still reading the descriptions on the wall about the skaters.  _ Aizawa Shouta’s Top Skaters,  _ the banner above the posters reads.  _ Kaminari Denki, Junior. Uraraka Ochako, Junior. Jirou Kyouka, Junior.  _ They all seem to be fairly young, although five years older than he is, so the one and only senior skater catches his eye quickly. 

_ Yagi Toshinori, Senior. Top Men’s Singles Skater. World Champion x 3.  _

Bakugou Katsuki stares at the poster for a whole six seconds before turning to his father and declaring, “I’m beating him.”

.

Katsuki goes to the local ice rink every single day after school for three hours until he has to return home for dinner. At first, he had been confused as to why his dad had not gone with him, but his father had only replied with, “you can sneak in,  _ kotenok. _ I’m more noticeable.”

(Katsuki wants to argue that his dad’s plain-looking appearance and attire would be far less noteworthy than his own shock of bright blond hair and red eyes, but instead he asks, “why do I have to sneak in?”

Masaru sighs, suddenly looking a thousand times older than he is. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”)

Borrowing the rental skates every single time has proven to be rather difficult, though not completely impossible. He waits until the main receptionist is busy with someone else to duck into the side door to take the skates, skirting away in under a minute in order to avoid being caught.

Playing the role of an innocent child comes naturally to him, even though every pretty word he speaks makes him want to rip his eyes out. The other skaters and coaches take pity on him, using a little bit of their free time to teach Katsuki the basics of skating. When the first week is said and done, he’s mastered crossovers and three-turns. Everyone at the rink praises him for learning so quickly, but Katsuki knows that it isn’t enough; it’ll never be enough if he wants to beat Yagi Toshinori. 

“I want to learn  _ more _ ,” Katsuki complains to his father during dinner. His feet swing absentmindedly under the table, littered with small blisters as a result of the terrible rental skates. 

“We can get you a coach,” his father hums. 

Katsuki is too overjoyed to think about why his dad suddenly has so much money to spare. Excited shouts fill the small apartment as he beams, latching onto the older man screaming, “thank you!” over and over. It’s the last time he’ll ever remember being this close to his father, but for now he contentedly smiles and thinks about what he could be.

.

The coach in question is a tall female with short hair, her words kind but eyes cruel. Katsuki does not complain, because he has dealt with his mother. Besides, she pushes him further beyond what he could’ve learned without a coach, and when seven days are over, he has perfected waltz jumps, t-stops, and salchows. 

“You can do better,” his coach says, and Katsuki agrees. 

Katsuki likes spinning. He skips the whole one-foot spin business and goes straight into front-scratch, and the next day he tries out back-scratch. It makes him dizzy but it’s worth it, because he feels like there’s no one on that ice but him.

Still, his coach says that he can do better. She teaches him toe-loop and sit-spin in three days before she deems him ready to try loop and flip and camel-spin and he feels  _ free _ as he skates and jumps and spins around on the ice. His coach doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need her to.

.

He starts to see his father less and less. Dinner is spent alone eating shitty takeout while he does his homework. Masaru always returns when he thinks Katsuki is asleep, bringing home foreign ladies that giggle drunkenly at every word his father says. 

(He thinks it’s because his dad cannot stand looking at an exact replica of who he used to love. It’s not like Katsuki likes it much, either.)

Katsuki reads fascinating English tales and hammers math into his brain like no other, skipping grades like it’s nothing because he doesn’t half-ass  _ anything.  _ By the time he is eight, he is in sixth grade and can land a double loop. He doesn’t think his father knows any of this.

A couple weeks after his mundane eighth birthday, Aizawa Shouta comes to visit the rink. Katsuki doesn’t realize this, of course, and goes on with practice as per usual, not noticing the rink suddenly go quiet with awe.

“Katsuki!” His coach whisper-yells. “Stop!”

He turns around quickly, mid twizzle, about to shout out a complaint when he spots him.

“ _ Aizawa,”  _ he breathes, starstruck. Everyone in the rink seems to be feeling the same way.

There’s a tranquil silence for four seconds while everyone stops to admire the man of the hour. One of the other coaches recovers first, stammering out a nervous, “Mr. Aizawa! To what do we owe the pleasu—”

“No need for formalities,” Aizawa says, voice rougher than Katsuki had expected. “I’m here to scout for a potentially new skater on my team. One of my skaters has... left, and there’s a spot open.”

“So do you want us to demonstrate our programs for you, sir?” One of Katsuki’s older rinkmates asks. 

“Just continue practicing as normal. I’ll be here to observe.” 

Everyone hurriedly starts to resume their lessons or practice, the rink bustling alive with skaters looking for their big breakthrough. Katsuki’s coach nudges him in the ribcage, looking more excited than he’s seen her in the whole year he’s been skating. “I think you can impress him,  _ kotenok, _ ” she says. “Go and run your program.”

“I don’t have a fucking program, you walnut,” Katsuki scoffs, looking at her like she’s lost her damn mind. 

“I know. But I have a song.”

Bakugou Katsuki is eight years old, and he is making up a program to a song he’s never heard of in front of the famed Aizawa Shouta. The music starts and Katsuki just  _ moves _ , commanding the arena with his rare aura of poise, but even he knows it’s not enough to win over a coach like Aizawa. So he stretches his biellmann a little higher than he should, adds newer combo spins he’s never tried, and attempts a double axel.

He falls, but gets enough rotations in. He thinks about adding another spin, but then quickly realizes that he forgot an actual step sequence. His body is lithe and nimble, yet he still struggles with basic footwork on ice. 

The music ends, and Katsuki holds a random ending pose he’s seen all the other skaters do before. For the first program he’s ever skated, and improv no less, it’s not actually that bad.

But he can’t afford to be “not actually that bad” if he wants to land a spot on the team. Skating over to his coach, who seems to be absolutely stupified, he demands, “teach me a triple salchow.” 

“What  _ was  _ that, Bakugou?”

“You told me to fucking improv, now teach me a triple sal!” Katsuki huffs, not getting why his coach is still standing there, staring at him like he’s grown three heads. 

“I didn’t expect it to actually be  _ good _ ,” she says, and Katsuki would feel offended if he also didn’t agree, just a little.

“It wasn’t. I fell,” he points out.

“Doing a  _ double axel, _ ” his coach says. “You’ve only been skating for a year.”

“Whatever,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, “can I do triple salchows now?”

When all is said and done, Aizawa does not utter a single sound other than the occasional grunt of affirmation when someone is talking to him, staying purely observational and outside of the rink walls. Katsuki has not seen the man glance his way  _ once,  _ and he is literally going to combust into three if his dreams shatter in front of him today.

Once everyone else leaves, Katsuki takes his chance. “Wait!” he yells, his words echoing around the arena. Aizawa, coffee in hand and looking wholly prepared to high-tail out of Moscow, turns around and raises an eyebrow. “Coach me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Katsuki replies, indignant.

“I did, but that doesn’t explain why. You’re not the skater I’m looking for,” Aizawa drawls. 

“You’re gonna regret it if you don’t coach me. I’m going to be the best,” Katsuki states like it’s the obvious, “and in order for that to happen I need the best coach. You’re the coach that trained Yagi Toshinori. And I’m going to beat him.”

Aizawa looks him up and down, clearly finding this whole thing to be a joke, “Right,” he says, “but I don’t exactly train novice skaters like you.”

“The only thing  _ novice  _ about me is my age. I can land triples if you’ll push me. I can do flying camels and sits and  _ all of that  _ but I need to be more.” 

“You realize who I am though, right? I create  _ champions.  _ You are an eight-year-old from a local rink in Moscow.” His tone is patronizing and oh-so-done with Katsuki’s bullshit, which makes Katsuki want to stab his own eyes out.

“Then let me show you! I’ll be your next Toshinori—I’ll be even better! And you’re going to coach me and you’re going to like it.”

Before Aizawa can say anything, he is already marching over to the rink’s edge, taking off his guards, and making his way over to the music box. He can feel the coach’s eyes on his back as he flips through random songs to improv to, and he’s never felt as  _ ready  _ as he does right now. Finally finding a song that he actually recognizes, he makes his way to the center of the ice and strikes a random pose he had seen Denki Kaminari do in his free skate program off of some random clips on Youtube.

The outcome of this situation goes like this: Katsuki skates like he has never skated before. Aizawa looks remotely interested and Katsuki takes this opportunity to list all of his halfway decent qualities until Aizawa is too tired and gives in, and Katsuki denies that he’s crying once the older man says yes.

(Many years later, Katsuki will find out that Aizawa had seen a seen not a mini Toshinori step out on that rink, but a star all of his own. And Katsuki will curse and grumble at his sappiness even as Aizawa fondly rolls his eyes and yells at him to go and fix that terrible quad lutz. It’s not exactly the life he had envisioned, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.)

.

And that is how Katsuki finds himself walking home with a world-famous skating coach by his side. “You’ll need to ask my father, although he’s rarely ever home,” Katsuki had told Aizawa when the latter had asked if he had been willing to move to St. Petersburg.

His apartment is littered with his father’s empty beer bottles and strangers’ lingerie, but Aizawa doesn’t comment on any of it, which Katsuki is immensely grateful for. He tells Aizawa to sit on the ratty couch while he goes and looks for his father, to which the former complies without complaint.

“Dad!” He calls, walking over to Masaru’s room and peaking in to see if anyone’s there. “Are you home?”

“What do you want,  _ kotenok _ ?” His dad calls from the guest bedroom, “I’m kind of busy here. Go make yourself dinner.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that! And someone needs to talk to you,” Katsuki says, listening to a whole lot of hurried movement and then the window opening as an unfamiliar voice calls out a soft goodbye. A minute later, Katsuki’s father emerges, hair tussled and face sweaty. Katsuki just stares at the stranger of a man before he blurts out, “Aizawa Shouta is here to talk to you,” fully expecting his father to think he’s lying. 

“Who’s Aizawa Shouta?” His father asks instead.

Katsuki gapes in disbelief and leads his father over to the not-so-lived-in living room where said man is sitting awkwardly on the couch. “This doesn’t explain anything,” Masaru looks at him, and he has never felt so utterly embarrassed in his entire life.

Sensing Katsuki’s shame, Aizawa stands up and holds out his hand for a handshake. “Aizawa Shouta, top coach in Russia for figure skating. I’m here to discuss a couple things about your son and his skating career.”

“Oh,” his father blinks, taken aback. Katsuki wants to scoff and say that his father literally  _ does not give a shit  _ about Katsuki himself, much less his skating career. “Well then. What is there to discuss?”

“For starters, I’d like to say that your son is a very fine young skater with a gift for it despite his terrible resources at hand, and I see great potential in him,” he knows the coach is talking to his father, but Katsuki can’t help but blush at the words. “I invited him to train under me in my rink. The problem is, it’s in St. Petersburg.”

His dad furrows his brows, “if you’re asking us to move all the way from Moscow to St. Petersburg, I’m afraid we cannot. It’s hard enough paying rent here but I don’t think I can afford to leave.”

Katsuki wants to call him out on his bullshit, but he refrains from doing so. Aizawa looks as if he had expected this answer and just replies, “I do have dorms for all of my skaters, if that’s okay. Bakugou will be under my care and you can stay here if you would like. I can assure you that the dorms are safe and well-kept.”

Masaru chuckles, like he’s been waiting all his life to get rid of the tumor that is his son. “What are you waiting for? You have my approval!”

.

Bakugou Katsuki is eight years old, and he is traveling by himself all the way from Moscow to St. Petersburg. There’s a thrumming in his chest and he realizes that he’s excited, apprehensive, and downright terrified all at once. 

And, well, Katsuki isn’t exactly known for being terrified.

So he squashes down all the negative emotions and thinks about absolutely demolishing every single person at the rink, world champion be damned. The train stops in the middle of his daydream about beating Yagi Toshinori’s skating records, and he mourns the loss of his (frankly wonderful) vision.

Katsuki arrives on what Aizawa had dubbed a rest day for his skaters. The streets in St. Petersburg are honestly rather quiet compared to the ones back home, and he basks in the silence while trying to decipher the map he had been given. 

The skating dorms are in a separate building a little ways off from the rink that looks to be rather excessive seeing as Aizawa has a very refined group of skaters at all times. Katsuki enters the dorms warily, and soon finds himself standing in front of his own room. The place looks to be rather empty, although he supposes that the inhabitants could’ve just left the building to eat or mill around.

Upon opening the door, Katsuki can safely say that the room is a lot nicer than he had expected. A bed big enough for two rests in the middle, with a small TV on the wall facing it. There’s a lone desk pushed next to the bed and a dresser on the other side, as well as a full-length mirror and a fucking  _ balcony.  _ Katsuki is absolutely floored. Where did they get enough money for this shit?

He quickly starts to unpack, stuffing away wrinkled clothing in the dresser without much thought. He needs to  _ train _ . If he makes a fool out of himself in front of national skaters, he’s going to go back to his mother. 

The dorms are still empty when he exits the room. Wandering down the desolate hallways and down the stairs, Katsuki thinks about meeting the famed Yagi Toshinori for the first time, feeling the rush of excitement course through his veins the same way they did when he first saw the man skate on TV.

This vision is immediately shattered when he bumps into a stranger, the person’s cup of hot tea spilling all over the two of them. “Watch it, dumbass!” Katsuki spits, the same time the man says, “I’m so sorry let me clean that up for you,” and he pauses for half a second before realizing that that’s Yagi Toshinori’s voice. The man who just spilled a cup of tea over him is  _ Yagi Toshinori.  _ So much for not embarrassing himself in front of national skaters.

“What are you doing here?” The older man asks after he finishes wiping up the spill. “Are you lost?”

“Aizawa invited me here,” Katsuki scoffs, annoyed at being underestimated.

If Toshinori is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “What’s your name?”

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he says, “and I’m going to beat you.” He expects the other blond to be angry at him, to bite back at his declaration, but instead all he gets is a placating little smile and an airy, “I’m sure you will,” that reminds him too much of his father.

“You  _ bastard! _ Are you underestimating me?” Katsuki yells, swatting the empty cup out of Toshinori’s hand. He pays no mind as the styrofoam falls onto the floor, barely making a sound.

If anything, Toshinori looks rather amused. “No, no, not at all, Katsuki. I’m sure you’ll beat me someday,” the smile is there  _ again _ , and Katsuki wants nothing more to do than to punch this man in the face.

But he has enough self-control to refrain himself from doing that, and instead brushes past the man as if the interaction had never happened in the first place. It’s easy to pretend so, but he walks away with the older man’s condescending smile plaguing his mind.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> SORRY ABT THIS LMAO IM SO BAD??? W MULTI CHAP FICS????
> 
> anyways i got myself back into haikyuu how would yall feel if i started to write haikyuu fics bc i fuckinffh love kageyama and oikawa those r my two favs
> 
> leave a comment if u want!!!! have a great day remember to spit at a cop:))


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